


I Wanna Be Your Left-Hand Man

by justanotherjen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, Major Character Injury, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherjen/pseuds/justanotherjen
Summary: An accident takes something from Bellamy that he can never get back, but he has Clarke to get him through.





	I Wanna Be Your Left-Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellofthetolppl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellofthetolppl/gifts).



It hurts. Everywhere. Bellamy’s vision blurs. Sound is muffled by the fog in his head. He tries to roll, but it sends a stab of pain across his chest.

Ribs broken then.

He moans, getting the attention of whoever is with him.

“Don’t try to move.”

“Clarke?” he croaks. “What-”

Her hands press his shoulders down gently, but he’s too weak to fight her anyway. “Just stay calm and don’t move.”

She’s using her stern doctor voice. It’s a step away from her I’m-going-to-shoot-you-in-the-head-if-you-don’t-listen voice. He rests his head back as everything spins.

“You’re doing great,” she says—softly this time. “Real good.”

He’s so confused. “Is that a surprise?”

She blinks at him. “Do you remember what happened?”

He searches his memory for something. Anything. It’s all blank. He shakes his head slightly, sending waves of pain down his neck. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion.” She leans over him so he can see her face without moving. “You were hurt by the flying debris.”

“I don’t remember-”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

Now she’s scaring him. “Clarke-”

“Just stay still.”

“Why?”

Her skin is deathly pale. Blood trickles from a cut at her hairline, coating one side of her face, and there’s a huge bruise on the other side. She’s hurt, too. He tries to reach out and brush away the hair that’s sticking to the blood, but something holds his arm down. He frowns, trying to see. Clarke grabs his face to keep him looking up.

“I said don’t move. You could have broken your neck. You need to stay still.”

He sighs. “Just tell me how bad it is.”

“You’ll live.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement if I ever heard one.”

Clarke blinks for several seconds before a smile cracks across her face. But he can’t ignore the tears pooling in her eyes.

“It’s bad isn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “You’re going to be okay.”

He’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself. Probably both. Again, he tries to reach for her, but he can’t seem to get his arms to cooperate. His head spins again, and it hurts to breathe. “Clarke-” He swallows hard. “I can’t feel my arm.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time then she slides her fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his sweaty face. “You’ll be okay. Just hang on.”

“Clarke-”

Suddenly, Jackson is at his other side. “Damn.” Bellamy’s never seen one of their doctors lose their composure, but Jackson just stares for several beats before shaking his head. “Status?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood. Pulse is thready. Breathing slow.”

Bellamy closes his eyes. “That’s ‘cause my ribs are broken.”

Jackson snorts. “Why don’t you let me make the diagnosis?”

The laugh catches in Bellamy’s throat forcing him to cough. The pain is agonizing, leaving him gasping which just hurts even more. Clarke cups his face, leaning over him as Jackson works beside her. “Slow breaths, Bellamy. Just stay calm.”

He finally catches his breath. “I’d be a lot calmer,” he grits out, “if you’d tell me what was going on.”

Clarke’s eyes tear up again. Great, he made her cry. It must be really bad. He’s going to die. “I’m going to die.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“You’re not dying, Bellamy,” Jackson confirms. “You just might not be all in one piece.”

What does that mean? Before he can ask, he feels a prick in his neck. A warmth radiates through his body; his vision goes fuzzy.

“Count back from ten,” Jackson commands.

Bellamy tries to comply, but his tongue feels thick and sluggish. The last thing he remembers before he passes out is Clarke’s smile as she leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

 

He wakes slowly—sound coming back first. Hushed voices draw him from the darkness. He tries to open his eyes but the light is harsh and painful. Squeezing them shut again, he tries to focus on the conversation. He recognizes Kane and Abby’s voices, but his brain won’t make sense of their words. He lets out a frustrated breath, getting their attention.

Abby’s at his side in seconds. “Hey, there. How are you feeling?” She starts fiddling with the various tubes and wires connecting him to monitors.

He thinks about it for way too long before he can get his mouth to make the words. “Okay. Thirsty.” Even that wears him out.

Abby just smiles. “I’ll get you something.”

It feels like moments later that Bellamy drags himself back to consciousness, but he knows it must have been longer. The lights in Medbay are set low for the evening shift. Clarke’s sitting in a chair next to his bed, head cradled in her arms. There are sutures running down one side of her face and dark circles under her eyes. He wonders how long it’s been since the accident.

Without thinking, he reaches out to brush the hair from her face except his arm won’t move. Panic stirs in his chest when he can’t even feel his arm. He forces himself to stay calm and takes inventory. His chest hurts from the broken ribs, and his head is killing him. He wiggles his toes so he’s not paralyzed. But his right arm. He’s relieved when his left arm easily lifts from the bed. He pulls back the blanket from his shoulder. Nothing.

He groans, fighting back sudden tears. Clarke’s head pops up.

“Bellamy.” She looks him up and down with a critical eye before settling on his face. “How are you feeling?”

His brow furrows. “Like I’m missing a freaking arm.”

Clarke’s face falls, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.

Jesus, he didn’t mean to make her cry. Bellamy rubs his face with his left hand then rolls to the right. His shoulder aches—his arm ending several inches above where his elbow should be. He tries not to look at it. “Clarke, stop. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry. We couldn’t-”

“Yeah.” He finally brushes the hair from her face. “You knew then, didn’t you?”

She looks away, wiping at her nose. “It was already gone—we were just trying to control the bleeding.”

He sighs. “You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to panic,” she whispers.

“This is much better.”

“Bellamy-”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s the painkillers talking. Hey-” He gently turns her face back to him. “I’m alive, right? That’s what counts.”

Clarke nods. “It is.” She bites down on her lip, and now he can’t stop staring at her mouth. Must be the painkillers. Then she yawns. Big.

Slowly, painfully, Bellamy scoots over in the bed, rolling more onto his injured side. He pulls the blanket back, heart in his throat. “Come on, princess, you look like you could use some sleep.” He can tell she’s about to protest even though she’s looking longingly at the bed. “Hey, there’s plenty of room now—I take up like twenty-five percent less space.”

Her jaw drops, making him laugh which sets off a coughing fit. Pain shoots from his injured ribs. Clarke offers him the water Abby must have brought the first time he woke up then runs her fingers through his hair until it passes. After a few sips, he’s in control of his breathing again and hoping he didn’t push his luck with Clarke. She glances over her shoulder before disappearing.

Bellamy sighs. So much for that, but before his heart can fall apart, she’s back with a syringe. He eyes it suspiciously.

“I’ll stay, if you take another dose of pain medicine. That’s my only offer, no argu-”

“Deal.” He smiles wide.

Clarke blushes then quickly injects the medicine into one of his IV lines. It takes them a minute to get situated without all of the wires getting tangled, both of them giggling like idiots. God, he loves it when she laughs.

“Shh, or my mom will hear.”

“You’re the one that wanted me to get high first,” he mumbles, getting a snort from her. “What’s your excuse?”

Eventually, they’re both as comfortable as they can get. Clarke presses her forehead against Bellamy’s with a sigh, relaxing into the pillow. Bellamy watches her eyes flutter shut—her lashes caked together with dried tears. He fights back the urge to kiss her. Has to be the painkillers.

Clarke twists her fingers into his shirt and takes a long breath, letting it out slowly. “I was so scared,” she whispers.

Bellamy pushes her hair behind her ear. “I’m still here—quit thinking about it. It’s over. I’m alive. End of story.” She shakes her head, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes again. Goddamn it. He tilts her head up until she looks at him. “You are not getting rid of me that easily. Someone has to keep your head from getting too big.”

She sniffs. “Just quit scaring me like this.”

“No guarantees.”

She rolls her eyes. The pain meds are fully kicking in now, and Bellamy feels himself drifting off. He yawns. “I’ll be fine, Clarke. You’ll just have to teach me how to do everything left-handed. It can’t be that hard.”

The last thing he remembers is her smile lighting up her eyes and the feel of her chapped lips on his. If he knew it would only take losing a limb to steal a kiss, he might have done this a long time ago. Who needs two arms anyway?


End file.
